


Aftermath (take two)

by LadyNimrodel



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, They are so in love, lots of tooth rotting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 16:43:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4674002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNimrodel/pseuds/LadyNimrodel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill: Imagine your OTP lying next to each other in bed, staring at the ceiling, embarrassed and slightly alarmed by the wild, intense, filthy sex they just had.</p>
<p>And all because Bilbo said "I love you"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath (take two)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a fic for this prompt for another fandom but I liked it so much I wrote another for the same prompt for Bagginshield. It was just too good to pass up

“….what just happened?” Bilbo voice is low and rough in the soft, flickering light of the lamp beginning to gutter next to the bed. Rough in a way that sends shivers over Thorin’s skin, like the sound is a physical touch. Though he doesn’t think he can bear any real touches at the moment. 

He is still trying to process speech, actually. 

“I…don’t know…” he finally gasps, feeling rather stunned. 

Because he doesn’t know. Sex is always good, of course. Bilbo is gorgeous and Thorin will never sate his hunger for him, no matter how many times they touch or kiss or fuck. 

But tonight…

“Goodness,” Bilbo breathes then turns his face into the sheets with a low moan. He is still gripping the blankets tightly, is still coming down, skin rosy in the dim light from the wash of pleasure. Thorin stares at him, runs a finger along the curve of Bilbo’s spine. All the time they’ve been together and it has never felt so urgent before. 

So intense. 

“Are you alright?” Thorin finally asks, feeling the little shudders under his fingertips as they run through Bilbo’s body. 

“I can’t…it’s never been…” Bilbo shifts his hips and Thorin’s breath catches when he realizes. Realizes that Bilbo is still hard. Or hard again, as impossible as it might seem. It was so intense, so incredibly fantastic even now Thorin’s blood is stinging with the remains of his orgasm. Like…like dragon fire, he thinks, running his fingers through the come sticky on the insides of Bilbo’s thighs. A kind of amazement is overtaking him. They’d done nothing different tonight. Ate dinner, read together for an hour or so, came back to the bedroom and sort of fell upon one another. 

“Thorin…” Bilbo whimpers now, shifting his legs, arching his spine, “Thorin, again,” and how he wants to oblige. His cock, soft and heavy between his legs, gives an interested twitch but it is too soon. After the burning brilliance of what just transpired between them (magic, it must be, it’s never felt quite like that before) Thorin doesn’t think he can move, let alone go again. 

Not like that. 

Not with the way urgency had boiled so hot in his blood he wonders how he wasn’t scalded and how the end stole his breath so completely it was like drowning. 

Or like flying. 

But Bilbo is moaning, eye lashes fluttering dark and damp on his reddened cheeks and Thorin cannot resist him. 

So he shifts close again, urges Bilbo to roll onto his back with gentle touches on his shoulder and hip. Bilbo is indeed still hard, cock red and no doubt terribly sensitive. Thorin imagines he could finish Bilbo off with a few deft touches. But that isn’t what Bilbo wants. Not with the way he is invitingly spreading his legs and biting his lip, eyes very dark. So Thorin slides his fingers along the insides of Bilbo’s thick, lovely thighs that already have marks from fingers and teeth to touch his slick opening. He drinks in the low, needy sound that drags itself from Bilbo’s throat. His skin gleams in the low lamp light, a red flush working itself over cheeks, neck, chest. Thorin licks at it, feels the heat of Bilbo’s blood under his skin and eases two fingers gently into the slick heat that he was buried in not that long ago. 

“Thorin!” the way Bilbo says his name, a plea, a prayer, sends a jolt of sparks through him and he presses his fingers deep, crooks them to rub just the right spot. 

And he is not disappointed. 

Not when Bilbo shifts his legs farther apart, grips desperately at the sheets, tosses his damp curls against the pillows. Not when he makes that wonderful sound, a low broken sob that Thorin needs to lean over and lick the remnants of out of his mouth. It tastes like desire and reminds him of flying. 

Thorin wants to keep kissing Bilbo but he also wants to watch. 

He loves watching. How many times has he sat back on the end of the bed and admired the way Bilbo curls his fingers around his short, thick cock, stroke himself to a lovely finish. How many times has he watched Bilbo open himself up, toes curling in the sheets and mouth open in breathless pleasure. It has surely been dozens by now. But still, he shifts back, enough to take in the glow of Bilbo’s skin, the arc of his back, the wide stance of his legs and the place where Thorin’s fingers disappear into his body. He could watch for days and not grow tired of how beautiful Bilbo is like this. He thinks about prolonging it, teasing his fingers over that lovely spot to make Bilbo gasp and tremble and ask for more. 

But as he begins to stroke his fingers into the tight heat, slick from their earlier coupling, Bilbo’s thighs shake and he tosses his head with a cry. 

Sticky fingers find Thorin’s wrist, urging him on, and he glances up to find Bilbo watching him through heavy eyelids, eyes very dark. His bottom lip is plump and red from being bitten over and over. Every breath hitches now, and his grip on Thorin’s wrist bites. There will no doubt be nail marks on his skin in the morning. 

“Are you going to come?” he whispers, voice rough and Bilbo gasps.

“…yes!” and he does, comes so hard he cannot make a single sound, so hard he leaves small gouges in Thorin’s wrist with his nails, so hard he doesn’t breathe at the highest peak of it. 

And then he all but melts into the bed, limbs going loose, head tipped away as he gasps desperately for air. 

Shocked and more than a little turned on himself, Thorin waits. Waits for Bilbo’s breathing to come down, for the flush to fade from his skin, for the trembling of his hands to slow. He eases his fingers free and moves his hand to Bilbo’s chest. Under his palm, the thudding of a slowing heartbeat is warm and steady. He counts the beats, strokes his fingers over soft, damp skin and admires the corresponding thud of a pulse in Bilbo’s neck. 

“That was…” Bilbo finally breathes, twisting his head back so he can stare at Thorin. He looks shellshocked, eyes wide and expression disbelieving. 

“Amazing?” Thorin ventures when Bilbo doesn’t finish his sentence. To which Bilbo lifts the corner of his lip in a crooked grin. 

“Embarrassing,” Bilbo returns, shakily reaching up to touch Thorin’s cheek then stroke his beard, touching upon the silver beads braided into it.

“Why are you embarrassed?” Thorin asks, curling up against Bilbo’s side so he can press his lips to his shoulder and taste the salt of sweat there. Bilbo hums, breathes in deeply a few times. 

“I…have no idea it could be like that. Intense enough to…get lost. Feel like I’m being broken apart,” he sounds bewildered and alarmed so Thorin curls his arm around Bilbo’s waist and kisses the skin under his mouth with what he hopes is reassurance, “Was it…was it like that for you?” Thorin grins. 

“Aye, quite. Tonight was…different,” there is a long silence then, as they both try to sort out why it was so much more intense between them today. But Thorin can not think of a reason and, since Bilbo offers no answers either, he concludes that sometimes it will just be this good. The very thought sends a sliver of excitement through him and he clutched Bilbo tight, breathes in his scent, familiar and beloved. 

And then he realizes. 

“It’s because of what you said,” he murmurs wonderingly against Bilbo’s skin. It was. He knows that’s the reason why sex was like riding a thunderstorm tonight. 

“What’s that?” Bilbo mumbles, clearly halfway into his dreams already. Thorin swallows. 

“Because you said you loved me. In front of…of everyone, you said…” he trails off. Bilbo said it once, in the very beginning. When Thorin nearly died on a bloody battlefield and Bilbo wept over his broken body. I love you, you bloody idiot, he’d said, tears dripping from his nose and chin, I love you, so you better not leave me here by myself, do you hear me? So Thorin hadn’t. He lived because Bilbo loved him and he loved Bilbo. 

But Bilbo is not very prolific when it comes to his feelings. 

Which Thorin understands and is quite content with, usually. Bilbo shows it in all the little things; the way he makes a dwarven dish for dinner at least once a week, the way he let Thorin build a workshop at the back of Bag End where he can make his jewelry, the way he always kisses Thorin in the morning when they wake up and when they go to bed, the way he defends Thorin to some of his doubtful relations and neighbors with a fierceness that Thorin only witnessed during a war. He knows Bilbo loves him. He does not really need to hear it said. 

Today, though, when some Took relatives came by and Thorin was serving them tea, Bilbo just looked at him for a moment and said, “I love you.” And then he took his tea and went on as if nothing had happened. Like Thorin wasn’t gaping at him, like his cousins weren’t grinning behind their teacups. 

Bilbo looks at him now, all soft and glowing, and smiles a slow, satisfied smile. 

“I did, didn’t I?” he chuckles, runs his hands through Thorin’s hair where it is spread over his chest, “I should say it more often then,” he leans up, presses a gentle kiss to Thorin’s forehead and his face his soft when Thorin looks at him, “I do love you, you know. Very much,” a sharp heat burns in his chest, a furnace stoked to high heat and he buries his face in Bilbo’s shoulder to hide the silly grin on his face. 

“Aye, Bilbo. I know,” there is a soft, agreeable hum and then Bilbo’s breathing evens out. He’ll be annoyed in the morning, that he fell asleep before they could clean up. But Thorin lets him sleep and drifts on the quiet joy that has settled in his chest. 

Tomorrow will come all to quickly, as it always does. 

So tonight he holds onto this feeling with all of his might and falls asleep with a smile pressed into Bilbo’s skin.


End file.
